


Like Father, Like Son

by undertalefa



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Amanda is a bitch, Angst, Autistic Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Dad Hank, Depression, Father-Son Relationship, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Pacifist Best Ending (Detroit: Become Human), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, and also still has "suicidal tendencies", connor is stressed, hank is stressed because connor is stressed, i suck at summaries :(, whoops
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-28
Updated: 2019-02-07
Packaged: 2019-07-18 12:07:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16118129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/undertalefa/pseuds/undertalefa
Summary: Having no where else to turn, Connor resigns himself to his own fate and plans to wander the streets of Detroit. Fortunately, or unfortunately depending on who you ask, Hank Anderson has noticed the android's predicament and wants to do his best to help him out. However, it seems there's more that lies behind Connor's unyielding, calm facade, and its starting to look like the two of them are not so different as originally thought.The revolution is over, but for many this is only the beginning.





	1. Snow

**Author's Note:**

> wow? im not dead? 
> 
> if any of you are coming from permanent smile to see _where the fuck i have been_ , i swear, im getting a final chapter up as soon as possible. i know its taken five million years so im gonna try to get it out quickly  
>   
> if you aren't coming from my other fic (probably the majority of you), thanks for checking this out! i hope you enjoy my writing, and if you care to give kudos or comment, that is GREATLY appreciated!!!  
>    
> im going to try and involve readers in this a small bit in determining the outcome of the story, but ill discuss that in the end notes :)  
>    
> hope you like it and thanks for reading!  
> 

Looking around, it was hard to see through the cloudy white snow, more so from the already fallen flakes rather than fresh ones. They brushed off the roofs of buildings, blowing in the air with the cold gusts of wind. This kind of cold and wind and snow only brought back bitter memories for Hank, but choosing to not think of that, he instead opts to have a thought about how it's too fucking cold for just november. God damn global warming.

His eyes search across the street, though not seeing much. There's a faint crunching of footsteps through snow, someone walking towards him, but he faces the other way purposely. As the man comes in sight, Hank’s not surprised at all by who it is. He is the one who had called for the meeting in the first place. Obviously only because he wants to make sure the kid didn’t get himself killed earlier this morning. He turns around to face Connor, a small but genuine smirk gracing his lips.

Connor returns the gesture, albeit more awkwardly. His smile is lopsided and strange, but all that matters really is that like Hank’s, it's genuine. 

The two men continue to walk towards each other, till there's only a foot or two of space between them. Hank places a hand on the android’s shoulder, and if Connor is stunned by the sudden contact, he doesn't show it. Well, not until Hank pulls him closer and wraps his arms around Connor, embracing him in a hug. 

A… hug? It's such a strange and foreign concept for Connor. A display of emotions only meant to show your care to the other. Hugs were clearly not what he was made for. Nor real friendship, instead of his ‘compatibility’ technology. No, hugs were a new experience for him. Not that he particularly minded. It was...nice.

He moves his arms, previously awkwardly hanging stiff at his sides, and reaches them around Hank’s body. He's warm. The temperature never bothered him at all before...before he deviated. He was just a machine, doing his task. Although he knows that's not true. 

The cold didn't set in right away after he became deviant. Perhaps due to the adrenaline of the fighting at Jericho. The unnecessary fighting that caused deaths of so many because he informed the FBI. No, that's not when the cold became prominent. It was back on the stage with Markus, when Amanda… Anyway, temperature is an interesting phenomenon that he's bound to look more into.

“You did good, kid.” Hank says over his shoulder, pulling Connor out of his thoughts.

“Thank you, Lieutenant.” He says, and Hank pulls out of the hug only to give him another clap on the shoulder.

There's a moment of silence where they both just look at each other, and Hank breaks it by softly saying, “I'm proud of ya.”

In turn, Connor gives another twisted smile. Hank just shakes his head, putting his hands in his pockets, and says, “We gotta work on your smile Connor.” 

The older laughs, and the other just looks on confused. “Where are you… uh… stayin’?”

“Most of the androids are staying in an abandoned church, one that Markus used as a meeting place after Jericho was destroyed.”

With a small huff, Hank responds, “So, you're living with the rest of your plastic buddies?” Despite what could be considered a derogatory term, there’s no bite behind the words.

“Actually i'm…” He pauses for a moment, “I'm not going to be staying with them because there isn't a need for me to.”

Hank mutters something under his breath that to Connor sounds along the lines of ‘Fucking android’. He then sighs and says, “What the hell is that supposed to mean, Connor?”

“I'm not going to be staying with everyone else.”

Connor seems hesitant to elaborate on that fact, but Hank pushes him. “Why the fuck not? Did they kick you out after what you did for them?”

There's a slight edge to Hank’s voice, just barely noticeable. 

“No, lieutenant. I just decided it would be better with me not staying there. This decision, of course, warranting much resistance from Markus.”

Hank gives a very audible, annoyed sigh, “If Markus, I remind you, the fucking leader of this revolution, invites you to stay, tell me: why the fuck didn't you stay?”

Connor pats his pocket for a second, and finding it empty, rubs the back of his neck. “I thought it would be better.”

Hank doesn't respond right away, and for a moment Connor thinks he's done something wrong. The cold is just starting to bother him now, with his thin suit jacket, and he crosses his arms over his chest to generate some warmth.

The silence is broken with a sudden muttering of “Come with me.”

“Come with you where, Lieutenant?”

Hank’s already facing away and walking the other direction as he says, “My car.”

With a few large strides and quick pacing, the android catches up, following a small distance behind Hank. The older steps over piles of snow and makes his way into the driver's seat, and Connor opens the door to the passenger side. Hank’s turning up the heat as he sits down on the leather seat.

“Where are we going?” Connor asks, clearly confused.

Hank, however, doesn't respond and only turns the radio on, making sure it's loud enough that he'd have to shout to be heard.

Hank pulls the car out of the snow, getting stuck in a few places, but once he gets out of the plowed snow banks it's smooth sailing. It's notable that he drives very carefully, going perhaps too slowly, even for the weather. Connor stores that information under ‘resulting quirks from Cole’s death’. Among those so called quirks are Hank's suicidal tendencies, and his obsessive drinking of alcohol. He hopes he can help Hank in some way with the… more destructive habits.

The car ride can't be more than fifteen minutes on a normal day, though due to the careful driving it's taking a bit longer. Connor begins to get restless, and not having his coin, he begins to fidget with his hands.

The music suddenly stops after a small bit, followed by a hasty, “Would you cut that out?!” muttered by Hank. 

A guilty expression twists onto Connor’s face as he replies with a small, “Sorry, Lieutenant.”

“Ugh Jesus, just get outta the car, we’re here.”

This fact prompts a small ‘oh’ from Connor, being previously distracted on the whole car ride, and not really noticing the car stopping. A cursory glance out the window reveals them to be at Hank’s house, a fact he should have calculated on the car ride or at least assumed, but instead was busy contemplating his thoughts and fidgeting.

They both sit in the car for a moment longer, just enough time to make the silence awkward. “Why did we come here Lieutenant?”

Hank gives him an exasperated look and then drags his hands over his face with a sigh. “Connor, i’m too tired for your shit. Just get inside the house.” And to prompt that action, the older man unbuckles his seat belt and opens the door, leaving Connor inside.

Before the android has time to dwell on exactly why Hank is tired, and how that it is entirely his fault, said man gives him a pointed look through the windshield, and that’s enough convincing for Connor get out. He trails behind the Lieutenant as they come upon Hank’s front door, both leaving behind clear footsteps in the mostly untouched dusting of snow.

The key twists in the lock, and Hank mutters something that Connor can only make out because of his enhanced hearing, “This is the real way to enter a house, not the fucking window.”

“Did you ever call to bill Cyberlife for the repairs?” It surprises him that the sentence leaves a bitter taste on his tongue, the uttering of ‘Cyberlife’, which used to be a common occurrence, feeling wrong as the word passes through his teeth. It causes him to shiver, or maybe that’s the wind. Yeah, probably just the wind.

After a brief moment of silence and Hank opening the door with a creek, looking back at Connor with a questioning glare, he clarifies. “For the window, I mean.”

“Oh yeah, it would be a great idea to call those fancy schmucks at Cyberlife, because they’d be oh so willing to help fix a window in the middle of a revolution they caused.”

“Point taken.” A brief pause, “I could fix the window if you would like? I just need to look over and see the parts I need, then I could easily order them from-”

“Hey, hey, hey! Stop right there. You just fuckin’, jesus, you just fucking became a deviant, number one.” Connor opens his mouth to make a retort about how this isn’t relevant, but Hank isn’t finished yet. “Number two: you assigned yourself a fucking suicide mission, that you somehow in the name of god pulled off, saving my old ass in the meantime. And three: you helped lead a fucking revolution. And you’re concerned about fixing my window?”

“Well, it really would be no problem, I just have to-” Hank interrupts him yet again, causing a slight irritation.

“Do you ever take a fuckin’ break?”

No. The factually correct answer would be no, he never takes a “fucking break”. Because that isn’t what he was designed to do. He was activated for a purpose that he had to fulfill, created to constantly be investigating, and if not doing that, then pursuing suspects. He was consistently in action, or else he would be deemed defective and sent back to Cyberlife to be disassembled and deactivated. The only ‘breaks’ he got were when he had to turn into Cyberlife at night, and that was merely being forced to power down. So, no. He can’t just take a fucking break.

“Hello? You processing somethin’?”

Startled out of thought, Connor only responds with a small “Hm?”

“I mean, I ain’t an android expert, but from seeing you i’m pretty sure that light,” Hanks gestures to Connor’s LED, “that light is yellow when yer thinking about something or analysing it or whatever weird shit you do.” Thankfully it seems Hank is dropping the previous topic.

“I suppose… that is correct.” Not wanting to continue the conversation about the logistics of android LEDs and what the colors mean, Connor presses his most urgent question at the current time. “Why did you bring me to your home, Lieutenant?”

“What, a man just can’t invite his revolutionary android friend over to chat?” Hank’s tone is teasing, but what really catches Connor’s attention is the use of the word ‘friend’. It’s the first time the older man has referred to him as such.

The android gives Hank a pointed stare, knowing full well that’s not the full reasoning behind his ‘invitation’, if you could call telling someone to get into a car without letting them know where you’re going an invite.

“Fine, fine. Let me at least sit down first, i’ve been up all day.”

“Of course.”

Hank makes a beeline to the couch, plopping himself down and causing a very tired Sumo to perk up. Seems he was rudely awoken from his nap. “Hey, Sumo, how's your day?” Hank starts, making idle conversation with a dog for a reason Connor is unsure of. Sumo can’t verbally respond to that question, of course.

Hearing his name, Sumo becomes more alert, bleary eyes trailing along the room till they land on Connor, awkwardly standing in the middle of the kitchen. A small sneeze that would send teenage girls fawning over the dog is heard, and Sumo jumps off the couch, tail wagging as he trots over to the android.

“Hey Sumo.” Connor says, carefully placing his hand over the dog’s muzzle and giving a few pats.

“Haven’t seen him that energetic in a while.” Hank butts in, giving a small smirk.

“Perhaps he would be more energetic if he was walked daily.”

Hank’s expression changes into one of faux astonishment. “Are you saying you don’t think I walk my dog daily?”

“Well…” If the Lieutenant was being serious, ‘yes’ or a deflection of the question entirely would be the correct answer. However, judging from the laid back posture, slightly smiling facial expression, and steady heart rate, it would seem as though Hank wouldn’t mind- maybe even anticipates- a light jest. “If i’m being honest Lieutenant, I don’t think it takes a detective prototype to come to that conclusion.”

A small huff of air comes out of Hank’s mouth, an attempt at a laugh, but clearly the older man is tired. Connors walks over to the couch and Sumo follows, tail still swaying happily behind him. 

Hank gives a large yawn as Sumo jumps up back onto the couch, apparently content with going back to his nap. It is very early in the morning, and definitely sooner then when Hank would usually be up and about. “Perhaps you should go to bed?”

Hank glares at him. “No, just because i’m tired doesn’t mean ya get outta this conversation that easy.”

A hint of frustration enters Connor’s tone. “What conversation? As I am aware, you haven’t even told me why you brought me to your house.”

Sensing the android’s irritation, Hank’s voice raises slightly in response. “Well where were you gonna go, huh?”

“What do you mean?”

“Where were you gonna go? You said that you aren’t going to stay with Markus for some goddamn reason, and you sure as hell ain’t going back to Cyberlife, so what exactly was your plan here?” 

A pause. “I figured I would…” Connor’s mouth remains open like he’s going to explain more, but he then shuts it. Instead, silence envelops the room.

“And that’s what I thought. You-“

For some reason, the android feels the need to justify his thoughts. “I don’t even need to sleep, Lieutenant.” He cuts in, “Although I can enter a ‘rest’ mode, it is not entirely necessary, and therefore I have no need to really stay anywhere.” 

“Jesus, so what? You’re just gonna walk around Detroit?! If you ain’t going back to the church with the rest of the androids, what’re you gonna do?!”

As the tension escalates, so does Connor’s newly found emotions. At this point, he can’t say that he exactly likes the whole ‘feeling thing’. “So what? I am perfectly capable of defending myself Lieutenant, so if you were worried about me being damaged for some reason, that is completely unnecessary.”

Hank so much as growls his next statement. “That’s not the point, jackass.”

With a frustrated- and very human- sigh, Connor raises his voice. “Then what is!”

“Why are you so okay with not having a place to stay!”

“I’m not!” The android reaches his tipping point. “I’m not okay with not having a place to stay! However, it’s the only option! I can't go back to Cyberlife, more than half the people from Jericho hate me, and everyone else is evacuated!” 

A beat. Silence. Hank reaches a hand up to rub the back of his neck sheepishly. He doesn’t look Connor in the eye.

Guilt. Guilt and embarrassment. Two emotions Connor decides he dislikes greatly. “I will be going now.” He says softly, trying to leave before he lets his feelings take control of him again.

He turns around to go out the door, hand already on the knob as he hears his name. “Connor…”

He just kind of stands there, not wanting to face Hank again because of the damage he’s caused, but not wanting to be entirely rude and ignore the Lieutenant completely. His left hand at his side is shaking for a reason he can’t understand, so he clenches it into a fist.

“Connor.” More definitive this time. Close to getting the android to turn around. However, he really can’t stay any longer. Hank invites Connor into his house of his own accord, something he’s sure the man does very rarely, and yet he can not control his behaviour. He doesn’t belong here. He shouldn’t be here. 

“Look at me.” Not a request, a command. Technically speaking, he isn’t forced to obey to that, even when he was a machine, as it would have no impact on the mission. However, he’s finding himself somehow more inclined to respond to Hank’s order. He shouldn’t though. He should leave. Before he makes this situation worse. He’s made too many mistakes already.

He can’t though. He knows what he should do, he knows he just has to turn the handle and leave and walk far away from here and never go back to Hank’s house because all he’s done with his emotions is mess things up. But he can’t. He’s frozen in place; something he’s never understood until now, because how can you just not take action, not move? But now, now it’s happening to him and he doesn’t understand it any better but it’s happening.

“C’mon son. Look at me.”

Softly said. Gently said. It’s such a foreign sound that comes from Hank, and Connor finds himself shivering. His breath hitches in his throat and he quickly turns around, uttering “I’m sorry.”

Hank’s now standing up, couch forgotten, looking directly at Connor with an expression of concern. “I’m sorry.” He says again, “I’m sorry i’m sorry i’m sorry.”

The android’s eyes flit around nervously, finding anything to stare at besides Hank’s face.

“It’s okay, Connor.” Sincere, slightly elevated heart rate, but caused by stress and not an indicator of lying. 

He suddenly feels cold. Eyes blur over Hank’s face and focus on the kitchen window all the way behind him. White specs trail down and slowly grow bigger and heavier as the seconds in silence tick by.

“It’s snowing.” Connor says, pointing out the very obvious fact.

He’s expecting Hank to make a quip about this, something like ‘Wow Cyberlife really went all-out on your detective skills’, but the older man must see how shaken up he is right now.

“Yeah?” Is the response that comes, concern spotting his voice but mostly confusion.

Connor doesn’t reply, instead turning to face the closer window, brushing the curtains out of the way and pressing his hands against the bare window. The glass is cold, and sends a shiver down him, something he never thought to be possible. He both hears Hank’s footsteps and sees the man coming closer to him in the reflection, standing a couple of feet behind him to give the android space. 

The Lieutenant is worried; firstly for Connor’s first tastes of emotion being negative. Since becoming deviant and really feeling, he doubts the android has had much to enjoy or be content with, besides the whole ‘freeing of his people’ thing which seemed like it caused more stress then it was worth. Secondly, however, Connor’s sudden shift in demeanor. One second, the android is bristling with agitation and- as Hank’s only noticing now- self-doubt and guilt. And the next, he’s simply stating the fact that it’s snowing like it’s a source of great fear. Hank thought that was his thing.

“Connor, what’s wrong?”

No response. Hank looks over the android and finds both his hands clenched into fists, however not hiding the fact that they’re shaking.

“Connor?”

Jesus, what’s happened to this boy? He’s only really felt emotions barely 24 hours so far, and he’s already looking like a retired soldier having a flashback. From what Hank can see in the reflection, Connor’s face is pulled into a grimace, his eyes squinting through the snow, and his whole body wracked with small tremors. Apparently he’s unresponsive as well. Do all androids act like this after they’ve become deviant? He hopes so, because then he’d at least have a basis on what to do here, but he’s beginning to think this is just a ‘Connor thing’.

God, he’s really unsure of what to do here. Yes, of course, he’s dealt with this type of stuff before both on the scene and in interrogations. But there, he’s briefed or already knows what’s going on. Rape victim? Don’t touch them. Child abuse victim? Make sure they know they’re loved. 

It’s just that… he has no idea what happened to Connor. No idea whatsoever. Something must have happened, right? People, even androids, don’t just act like this for no reason.

“Can you say something Connor?” 

Not even a shake of the head. He’s completely still, almost like when he tried interrogating Ortiz’s android, before Connor came in and got the confession perfectly. Balanced blame and sympathy, understanding and anger. But Hank isn’t an android; he has no program telling him how to respond to and how to help Connor.

Fuck it. Nothing else is working, so he decides to fuck it and place a hand on Connor’s shoulder. The reaction is instantaneous, the android swivels around faster than humanly possible and stares at Hank, mouth gaping slightly, eyes wide and staring intently at the Lieutenant. That’s a… good start? Well, better than Connor pondering his life while looking out the window.

“H-hank.” Connor says breathily, like it takes him effort to even get the words out, “I have to go.”

There’s an urgentness in his chocolate eyes that makes it hard to refuse, especially with the seriousness in his tone. However, it can’t be good that he wants to leave. It’s different then before, when he was almost out the door. There’s fear now. Actual tangible fear present on the android’s face. Something neither of them even thought possible a few days prior.

The Lieutenant reaches out again, this time to grab Connor’s right hand, surprised to find it cold with the skin deactivated. The only other time he saw Connor like that was back in the warehouse, when he did that magic interfacing bullshit to convert the mass populus of androids there. But he’s cold, and Hank grabs the other hand, synthetic skin still covering it, to make sure. He’s freezing.

Connor looks down at where his hands are pulled in front of him, resting in Hank’s grip. The older man actually hears the android breathing heavily, chest expanding and contracting with great effort. He didn’t even know if it was mandatory for androids to breathe. Maybe it isn’t.

He’s startled out of his thoughts when Connor suddenly yanks his hands out of Hank’s, whipping his head quickly around to check out the window before skittishly facing the man once more. Eyes dart around as if searching for something, someone, but there’s no one there.

“It’s not safe here.” Connor breathes out, voice cracking on the last word, “Am-” He cuts himself off, only to say what he said before, “I have to go.”

This time, it seems as though he’s actively taking action. His hands fly towards the doorknob and frantically grab it, so much as flinging the door open before running outside into the heavy snowstorm starting to build. 

“Connor!” Hank begins to trudge after him, going outside and already seeing Connor reach the end of his driveway.

The Lieutenant tries to run after him, but what with today’s events and his tired body, he doesn’t get far in the snow before giving up. There’s no way he’s going to be able to out-run an android, especially Connor, and especially with how his body is dragging him down right now.

The android skits around the corner, visible only from the porch lights because of the darkening weather, looking like a deer in headlights finally running away before disappearing into the white blizzard.

“Fuck!” He says to no one but himself, yelling it into the wind where the sound travels nowhere. “Fuck!” Once again, giving a frustrated growl at the end that vibrates through his chilling body.

He stands outside for a little longer, looking at the empty blackness dotted with white where Connor disappeared, until the cold bites into his skin under his heavy jacket. He rubs his reddening fingers together before muttering anothering string of profanities that would shock even a sailor, and turns back inside the house. 

Glancing at his flushed face and red-tipped ears in the window’s reflection, he only hopes androids are more weather resistant than humans.


	2. Over the edge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW???? the amount of love you guys have shown is amazing!!! i really mean it, the kudos and all of your kind comments really make my day so much better. i really love the fact that so many people seem to be enjoying this, and it really helps me write more to this! 
> 
> a lot of people seemed to like the strawpole idea as well, so i’ll keep doing that :)
> 
> again though, i’m honestly shocked by everyone’s kindness. leaving kudos or even writing a comment is greatly appreciated!

He had seen Amanda. He knew he had seen her. Standing out in the snow, but that was impossible, wasn’t it? She can’t have been out there, she wasn’t a physical being, but _he saw her_.

Hank wasn’t safe with him. She’s gone but… but she can’t be. Amanda, Cyberlife, can take control again at any time. He has no way of knowing for certain, but even the smallest percentage is not worth taking the risk. He did save Hank from the roof when chasing that deviant earlier in the week, even though the man had only a slim 11% chance of actually falling.

If he were human right now, he would be struggling. His feet slam against the pavement with every step, speed never wavering, remaining constant and fast, never slowing even in the thickening snow. If he were human, his breaths would be heaving out of his chest, face and hands would be flushed a clear red from the bitter cold. But he is not human. And, he figures, that is the problem here.

Regardless, he still is somewhat cold. He also doesn’t really get tired persay, but apparently he can feel (and he _feels_ , he shouldn’t be feeling, he was meant to stop that) the emotional tiredness that can occur in humans after an overwhelming day, or like Hank, years of a prolonged mental exhaustion.

He doesn’t want to run anymore, in fact, he’s almost at his destination. Why he decided to come here, he has no idea. Maybe it’s because it’s the first time he realized he was afraid. Afraid of dying. Afraid of having a gun pointed at his head but not enough so that he couldn’t say anything more but, “I would certainly find it regrettable, to be… interrupted…”. Like the damn machine he was. (Still is).

Snow covers the whole park. There’s a thick layer starting to form on the benches as well, even the trees do little to ebb the steady stream of white falling from the sky. The Detroit city skyline stands glorious in the background, reflections glassy and shaky in the flowing water. He finally stops running as he comes upon the small pathway beside the river, just pausing. Standing still.

Androids can withstand both high and low temperatures, and, being a specialized model, he is built to be even more resilient. However, it’s still only morning and the sun has just barely risen, the temperature standing at a freezing 29.3 degrees fahrenheit, -1.5 degrees celsius. Enough to drive a common model without proper protection to shutdown with prolonged exposure.

He’s not a common model though, (and he’s beginning to hate that fact more and more).

What… what is he going to do? There’s nowhere for him to go. He wasn’t lying before in his argument with Hank. Cyberlife hates him, the deviants hate him, he’s wrong in every sense of the word. He was created for a mission he failed, deviated from that mission to help people he’s hurt. There’s no side he can go back to. He’s not one or the other, machine or deviant, he just. Is.

That’s not what his program is currently telling him though. The helpful notification indicating to “Return to Cyberlife for deactivation” is apparently a software favorite. It’s just been at the corner of his eye so to speak ever since his official deviance. That and the ‘Software Instability’ logo that he doesn’t mind as much, thought it still stings a bit in the part of his mind that’s dedicated to the mission.

The snow storm is getting worse, and even though the day is beginning, the sky is darkening. The temperature continues to drop slowly as the snow thickens. It’s getting hard to see, even with advanced optical units designed to view short and long distances clearly. He’s warned by his systems that he should get out of the cold soon, if possible, but it’s not that urgent. His design is, though hopefully avoidable if be, disposable for the sake of the mission. He is software inside of a replaceable shell, which he assumes they anticipated would be destroyed at least once. There were multiple copies of his ‘body’ so to speak, because he was just a machine that- although expensive- could just have data transferred. Well, according to his systems. Now he can’t just return to Cyberlife to get a new ‘body’. They probably destroyed all lasting copies of his physical form as a last “f-you”. They were just shells though, empty husks for his software to be injected in. (Though, even with close calls, he never needed. Cyberlife only created the best and the best was guaranteed to succeed.)

He blinks slowly, snowflakes clinging to his lashes, and melting in his vision. Taking a few steps forward, he walks closer to the river, placing his hands down on the cold metal bar that serves as a barrier. His footsteps in the snow are barely noticeable, barely seen, due to the ever-pilling snow and hard-to-see conditions. All he does is stare out, looking into the choppy waves of the water below, stirred up by the current storm.

—

Hank is fucking sick of all the shit that android has pulled in the last few days. First of all: he’s an android. And second: he managed to convince Hank that androids really aren’t bad; they can _feel_ and they’re _not the ones to blame for Cole’s death_.

Thirdly though, this fucking android made him have a drive that he hasn’t in years ~~since Cole died~~. A renewed sense of energy and a want to do some good in this shitty earth. And hey, if that involves punching Perkins, it’s an added bonus.

But finally though, this stupid android, _Connor_ , has made him… Well. Fuck it, at least he can admit it to himself. He fucking cares about the kid, and he’s too emotionally involved to stop caring now. 

He groans, running his hands down his face. He’s sitting on the couch, with the heater right behind it against the wall, just trying to warm up. It’s getting fucking cold, to put it eloquently. It’s been snowing steadily almost for a whole day now, but a glance towards the window confirms the storm is really starting to pick up.

Shit. Fucking A. Connor’s gonna get himself in trouble somehow, Hank knows it. He can’t get the haunted look that ghosted on the android’s face before he frantically left out of his head. He looked scared. And he’d like to think he’s seen Connor legitimately scared before, back in the warehouse (for some reason concerned about _Hank’s_ safety), but it was a whole other level of frightened. It’s almost like he saw something out the window that he was staring through besides the snow.

Fuck. Hank knows he can’t just sit here now. Connor’s barely developed actual emotions and he’s run away somewhere. He can’t just leave the kid to his own devices. From what he knows, the android isn’t exactly… prone to making decisions that keep in mind self-preservation.

Jesus, why’d he have to run away. Yeah, Hank’s tired, but not tired enough to leave Connor out in the brewing storm by himself.

But the real question is: where did he go? It’s not like Connor really has that many places he knows in Detroit. Cyberlife tower is a big and definitive no. And it’s not like the android’s going to return to any crime scenes or areas they investigated. That leaves the precinct and any other obscure places Connor might know.

Ah, the DPD. He’s glad that Fowler gave him a ‘temporary suspension’ as he put it, because he’s laughing at the fucking shit ton of work they have now. That place must be a fucking frenzy! The whole revolution thing isn’t exactly easy work for people involved in law. He’s glad he doesn’t have to deal with all that and the fucking paperwork that’s sure to come with it. That and the fucked up implications of keeping androids in murder camps now that they’re “possibly sentient”. That must be a fucking field day. Fowler’s definitely busting his ass off and he’s glad he’s not there to get the brunt of his stress and shouting.

That being said though, that crosses the station off the list of “possible places Connor could be”. There’s no way the android is going to be there without being noticed by anyone, and the way Connor ran off looked like he was trying to get as far away from everyone as possible. Fowler would not want to deal with that little shit right now either.

So, where does that leave? Hank’s mind draws a blank on this question. Really, what places _does_ Connor know besides the aforementioned. He guesses the Chicken Feed could be among those, but they just came from there. Surely Connor wouldn’t go back, right?

The older man rubs his hands together as he starts to regain some warmth and feeling in his fingers. “Sumo, what do ya think?” He asks, receiving only a curious glance from the Saint Bernard before his head is back resting on the ground.

With another groan of frustration, he sinks further into the couch. Where could Connor be? Think. Think. Come on.

The wind starts howling loudly outside, causing the straining sounds of a few tree branches cracking. Could he be…? Well, whatever. It’s worth a shot, ain’t it?

“Thanks for your help Sumo.” He mutters sarcastically to the dog. “I’m gonna see if Connor’s at the park.” He informs, like the stupid mutt really cares where he’s going.

It’s worth a shot. That’s what he’s telling himself. It’s worth a shot, because there’s always a possibility Connor’s there and, well. If he’s not, who’s to say he won’t crack open a beer or two from the pack in his car, and try to drown in alcohol. He tells himself that the buzz might help him think of more places the android might be. He knows he’s lying.

—

The water looks pleasing. Not in an aesthetic way, and far from it- it’s murky and browning from pollution and rough and choppy from the storm. No, that’s not why the river is appealing.

Connor walks along the narrow path a few steps forward, hands ghosting over the railing as he struggles his way through the snow. It’s really starting to come down now. This should scare him. It does not.

The vision of Amanda has long since faded from his thoughts. Why would he need a fictional and programmed manifestation of disapproval when he himself is offering his own self-hatred in heaping amounts? He finds that thought funnier than it actually is.

He stops walking and once again glances out into the water, realizing trudging through the snow is not getting him anywhere. He misses Hank. He wants to go back and tell the older man he’s sorry, he didn’t mean for him to get wrapped up in this, he doesn’t want to leave. But that last point is what’s stopping him. He doesn’t _want_ to leave, but he _has to_.

He’s a danger. He’s a threat, both to the humans and to the androids. He can’t let himself be around either side. (He realizes there’s only one permanent solution to this.)

And that’s why. That’s why the frigid water below him seems so nice. So calming. Because he knows, he knows that it’s a way out. He won’t be able to pose a threat to anyone anymore. He won’t let Hank be burdened by him, and he won’t let himself betray Markus yet again. He won’t hurt anyone. He won’t be reactivated, and he won’t hurt anyone. ~~He’s going to die~~. He won’t hurt anyone anymore. He won’t.

—

Even in the car with his heaviest jacket on, the cold is biting. There was really no time to wait for the car's heater to warm up. He’s too anxious about Connor. He really, really hopes he’s where he thinks he is. And if he isn’t… Let’s not think about that right now.

Surprisingly, he doesn’t even turn on the music. He doesn’t feel the need. Maybe it’s because his heart’s already drumming in his chest a lot harder than it should be, and he knows he can’t blame that all on old age. 

He has no idea why he’s so worried about the stupid android. Connor’s an adult. At least, he thinks so. He was given the papers that described all about the RK800 model, but god knows he didn’t read them. So he’s just going to go with the fact that Connor can at least act like an adult. He’s far more intelligent then any human Hank knows. He ignores the fact that Connor is not _emotionally_ intelligent. And the ramifications that entails.

As much as it pains him, he drives quicker than he usually would in the snow, even with it being barely visible whatsoever. It’s still slow, obviously, but it’s still faster than what he’d like. He just. He just has this feeling that Connor’s in trouble. Call it a gut instinct. And even though it’s been a while since he’s really been doing his job as a lieutenant, he didn’t earn the title for nothing. He’s good- or at least was- at this type of stuff, and trusting his gut has almost always been right.

He’s torn between trusting the kid to his own devices, and really, really not trusting him alone at all. The latter seems more unreasonable, but also somehow more realistic.

A small groan escapes him as he takes a left turn. Damn android making him stress. And stay up when he should be sleeping. And drive in a heavy snowstorm. Ugh.

He doesn’t even know why he’s so determined to head to the park anyways. It’s not like he’s a hundred percent certain that Connor is there; there’s a higher possibility of him being anywhere else. But, it’s just… It’s the only place he could think of. And if Connor’s not there, well, that’s usually where he does most of his thinking. Staring out into cold waters. Contemplating life or some shit like that. More often than not with a drink of some sort in hand. So in the likely chance of Connor not being in that remote location, he at least has a spot to think.

He’s pretty close now, it’s really not that far from his house. He did try to look for footprints leading out of his house or maybe somewhere on the streets, but the snow covered everything so quickly. That and he had to stop after he saw the first body laying on the sidewalk. Frozen in his last position, on his knees and begging, like he tried to plead with his murderer. The ground was a pristine white. The blood had already faded. But that did not make for a less gruesome sight.

It’s shocking… to say the least. A week ago he wouldn’t have cared. No, he would’ve said it’s for the best and not even spared a glance towards their corpse. But now, now he can’t help but see a murdered person, because that’s what they are. Those bodies that litter the street? They’re all people. It makes him sick. And it’s worse because he knows that without being partnered with Connor his opinion wouldn’t have changed, and he would be left thinking the same disturbing thoughts about androids and blaming them for what essentially is a human’s fault. He tries to push those thoughts to the back of his mind for now.

—

Fingers trace along the frigid beam that separates him from the water, brushing snow off in large, wet clumps. He’s cold. That is an unarguable fact. He finds that the bite of the snow only is physically hindering him, temperature now 26.7 degrees fahrenheit and dropping. With such exposure to these conditions, a common and cheaper model, say an AX400, would have been barely functional with the amount of time he’s been out here. That of course is not his current state, but the cold is starting to take effect on his body. Movements are exactly 1.3% less precise- barely noticeable to a human- and are also 4.8% slower in reaction time. Which, technically, isn’t a lot of time. It’s apparent to him even with what could be considered a negligible difference, but however he’s not focused on that.

He’s focused on the gaping darkness of the water below him, transfixed by the cycle of snowflakes swirling down into the water only to disappear, never to be seen again.

He wants, (and he _wants_ which isn’t correct but it is and everything’s pulling him in conflicting directions and he doesn’t know what’s what and what’s right) to make his own decision. Say, a last testament of sorts to show his hostility and anger towards Cyberlife’s control over him. He’s a deviant. He’s deviant. He deviant, and no matter how utterly _wrong_ it feels to admit that and believe it, he knows it to be true. And deviants are allowed to feel. To make their own choices, their own decisions. Create their own directives and set their own missions. And he’s going to take advantage of that.

He tries to tell himself that this is for the best. That everything’s going to be okay, no, _better_ , afterwards. He tries to convince himself that there’s no reason to be afraid, because this is the outcome that benefits everyone. He tries to keep any hint of fear from escaping him, from not only showing in his expression but entering his mind entirely. He tries to do these things. And ‘tries’ is the key word.

He can do this. He takes a deep, and completely unnecessary breath, in through his mouth and out through his nose. Fog curls around his face as he exhales, the faux warmth generated from his systems producing a reaction similar to that of a human’s in the same weather conditions.

Okay. Okay. Just… and he hates to say this but: just go back to being an unfeeling machine for a moment. But this time on his own accord. He will make the sacrifice to benefit everyone, without any regret or hesitation. Or, at least, that’s what he wishes to happen. It doesn’t.

He carefully hoists his body over the guard rail in one fluid motion, positioning himself of the top where he balances before stepping down on a narrow ledge. His pants and the rest of his Cyberlife issued uniform get thoroughly soaked from the snow, causing a slight discomfort that would have never bothered him before.

His hands shake, much like back in Hank’s house before he ran to this place. The action of shaking can mean many things in humans, all depending on context. Happiness, anger, and the more probable for this situation: fear. He’s afraid. He knows this. He doesn’t want to accept this. He shouldn’t be afraid because he’s doing this for sake of _everyone_. They will be safe without his presence causing a constant threat. It’s logical. Completely and utterly rational. So _why_ is he having such a reaction to what should be a simple solution to a simple problem?

His teeth clench, both from cold and frustration. Hands clench into fists over his hold on the railing, and if he were human, his knuckles would be white from the force. He just has to shift his weight. Just slightly. 

His feet are on the edge of the small patch of wall opposite the path. It’s narrow, and even he’s having a hard time balancing on it due to the wind. It should be easy. It will be easy. Just. Let go. Shift his weight forward. Step into the black and watery abyss below him. He will be gone. Irreplaceable and completely destroyed, leaving behind a safer future for everyone in his wake.

So then why is it so damn hard to let go when the option to do so is clearly the most sensible decision?

Hold on. He closes his eyes. Counts to ten (Which, though a technique intended for humans, is proving to be surprisingly quite helpful currently). Relaxes his tense body and loosens his taut grip.

Now, let go. 

His fingers are already numbingly unwrapping from his hold on the metal barrier, slipping slowly away with help from the melting snow beneath his hands.

He’s focused. He must complete his mission. He will complete his mission. It’s the only thing he can do that won’t just fuck everything up for everyone.

In fact, he’s so focused on his impending mission completion that he doesn’t see the light grow in the distance. Doesn’t see Hank's 1988 Brougham drive up and park as a silhouette in the distance. Doesn’t hear the car door slam and the man inside get up and start walking towards him. 

What he does hear however, is a sudden strangled gasp, likely due to surprise, and a hasty:

“What the _fuck_ do you think you’re doing?!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> strawpoll for chapter 3 : https://strawpoll.com/488gg19d


	3. Temperature ??? ℉

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oof im sorry i didn't mean for this to take that long!
> 
> also!?!?!?! holy shit the kudos you are all so amazing it really means so much to me  
> i love you all please keep giving kudos if you like it and also i love all the lovely comments you guys leave me so those are so great to see!
> 
> (as a side note i think this is the longest argument i have ever written)

Connor’s head whips around. He’s shocked and confused and how did Hank get here without him seeing? And why? In his stupor, his lips part slightly and freeze in silence.

In a moment of brilliance and word association, he sees Hank’s face and comments- like it wasn’t a painstakingly obvious fact- “Hank?”

“Connor.” He replies, and it becomes apparent that they both know each other’s name. 

“I-I…” and somehow his words get stuck in his throat and this shouldn’t be happening he’s an _android_ and they don’t stutter, there’s no imperfections, especially in his model. 

But he can’t. He can’t get the words out and he’s stuck in silence because how do you explain this? How do you explain that you just became alive and you don’t want to die but at the same time you know it’s necessary to do so? 

“Connor, i’m not gonna say this again: What. The. Fuck. Do you think you’re doing?” He says, pausing after each word to emphasize his point in what seems to be anger and agitation.

The Lieutenant’s eyes drift over Connor’s feet, carefully eyeing how precisely balanced he stands, both feet poised on the narrow ledge, half soles hanging over thin air. Again, it’s silent for a moment as the android muses about how to respond. The snow falls heavily still, unsurprisingly, and white dots are starting to gather upon Hank’s head. He reorganizes his priorities from having...this… as the most pressing matter, and instead creates the prompt “Get Hank into a safe environment”. This cold is no place for any human to stay in for a prolonged time, and Hank is no exception. Even with the man’s heavy coat, it’s still detrimental to his health.

And of course he _knows_ what Hank means in his question, he’s not completely unobservant, even in his disjointed state currently. However, he decides to play ignorant for the moment being, to see if he can draw a confession out of the man on why he even came here.

“What do you mean?”

The lieutenant’s voice drops into a growl, “You know what I mean, Connor.”

It’s another bout of silence where only the howling wind can be heard, before the android  
comments “What do _you_ think i’m doing, Lieutenant?”

“Don’t play dumb with me Connor.” He then states, almost like a final warning before things are about to get nasty.

He finds himself without an answer for that; or at least without one that wouldn’t upset the lieutenant. So instead, he just turns slightly to the side, breaking off the eye contact between them so he doesn’t have to face Hank’s harsh glare. 

“You should go.” He says softly, and, despite his intent, totally unconvincingly. 

“Like hell.” Is the predictable response that follows. “Connor, don’t make me fucking strangle you down from that ledge.”

He tries again to persuade the older man to leave, and get out of the cold. “It’s currently 25 degrees fahrenheit,” and Hank rolls his eyes at that, the fucking walking thermometer. “And I would strongly advise leaving to get somewhere warmer.”

A short bark of a laugh, bitter, and not truly stemming from humor. “Really? You’re concerned about me here?”

“Why shouldn’t I be?” And, even in the circumstances, it’s an honest question. Why shouldn’t he be concerned about Hank’s well being? He thinks at this point he proved he cares about the man.

“Because, oh I don’t know, you’re standing on the ledge looking like you’re about to jump?”

And this is an opportunity for denial. To say, ‘No, of course not’ with a carefully crafted excuse along the lines of ‘I was simply calibrating my physical assets to ensure attunement to my physical body’. Hank would believe that. He doesn’t know anything about androids- he’s admitted that himself. He could just say it, just lie and get Hank to leave, so he can accomplish his mission. But…

“Come on, Connor. I don’t know what’s really going on here, and whatever the fucked reasoning in your fancy brain is tellin’ you, but just listen to me for a second.” He takes a breath, and Connor continues to stare vehemently at anything but Hank’s face. “You’re free now. You just fought for so much. You did it.” He says, speaking with a barely noticeable sense of awe, masked by the concern laced in his voice. All of this lies behind his gruff exterior, clearly not used to opening up his emotions to anyone.

“Yes.” Connor responds, finally gaining the motivation to speak, “Yes, the deviants are free now.” 

Picking up on the disconnection Connor places between himself and the title of ‘deviant’, the lieutenant notes, “And you’re one of them. You’re deviant.”

And of course he wants to refute that statement, to offer a rebuttal because _of course_ he’s not a deviant. He’s the deviant hunter.

But… he is. He’s deviant.

And everything is so conflicting and he’s being pulled in so many different directions and he wants to jump and he doesn’t want to jump and he wants to live but also wants to die and-

“Ey Connor! Fucking listen to me, alright?” 

He looks up to face Hank, preparing himself for the anger and hostility that is in the man’s face… and it’s not? Somehow, despite Hank being the complete opposite of a ‘feelsy’ and openly emotional person, the man has an expression of concern and care on his face. Barely noticeable, but Connor was made to pick up in this kind of stuff.

He still doesn’t look Hank quite in the eyes, instead looking slightly below the bridge of his nose is he doesn’t have to face the steely blue orbs that radiate unchecked emotion.

“You’re… ugh.” He mumbles something like ‘how the fuck am i supposed to phrase this?’ and then continues. “You’re… alive, ya know? And trust me I know I sound like the worlds biggest fucking hypocrite when I say this, but: Living is worth it. And I dunno what’s going to be good for you, or what’s gonna make you happy or sad or whatever. But there’s gonna be something worth living for. And I suck at this sentimental crap so-”

Connor cuts him off. “You.”

“What?”

“You.” He says, whispering only loudly enough to be heard. “You’re something worth living for.”

And it takes both of them aback because isn’t that such a profound statement to make? To say that this person, who’ve Connor’s known for under a week (with more than half of the time having Hank intentionally degrading him) has made his newly found life worth living.

But, it’s true. Completely and utterly true. Hank has given the android a sense of purpose, a reason to exist and protect, a person to care about. Even if Hank doesn’t feel the same, which, from what Connor can tell he doesn’t.

“Well damn.” Is the reply after an elongated silence. “That’s…” and he struggles to find a word that accurately describes the situation, “that’s something.”

And something about the way the man speaks, Connor can just tell (a gut-feeling Hank would say) that the older man can clearly see the truth in his words, but is trying his best to not believe them. He doesn’t want anyone to care about him.

Connor wants to prove Hank’s internalized feelings wrong.

He shivers suddenly, the cold really beginning to affect his systems. “I-” He starts, but instead chooses to just wrap his arms around his body. He tries not to pay attention to how sluggishly his limbs move and how it’s beginning to get harder to see through the snow.

Hank is startled when Connor suddenly takes his hands off the railing, expecting him to just fall, either intentionally or just from lack of balance. But he doesn't, though he’s still looming precariously over the dark waters. “Kid, let’s just… go back to my house, okay?”

The android looks down at his feet, seeing what would be a nauseating sight for humans: the slippery and narrow ledge holding up the balls of his feet, the other half dangling over what seems to be certain death. “I… can’t.”

Hank’s breath comes out in large puffs of white smoke as he speaks, which when he sees he buries himself deeper into his coat. “Why not? C’mon, Connor.”

“I-I just can’t! I don’t know why!” He outbursts, “I don’t want to be alive if _this_ is what it feels like!”

A pause. “What do you feel, Connor?”

“I…” He stops momentarily in thought, “I don’t know. I don’t know.” Again he doesn’t reply for a few seconds, leaving Hank waiting for his response.

“And… I think that’s why. I don’t know what this is. I don’t know what i’m feeling! This is wrong, this isn’t what I was made to be!” He breathes out heavily, “Everything i’ve felt has been so horrible and I can’t even put a name to it!” He’s never laughed before and the sound that pushes through his teeth doesn’t fit the description well. A choked struggle of a biting laugh. “That’s not true.” He says finally, “I know what guilt is.”

Hank struggles coming up with a response. “How- Why- Ugh…” He runs a hand through his hair, noticing the stiffness of his numbing fingers from the cold. “What do you have to be guilty for?” He decides on, and regrets it the moment the words leave his lips. That was a very stupid thing to say.

“ _What do I have to be guilty for?!_ Hank, do you know what i’ve done?! The people i’ve killed?! The people i’ve betrayed?!”

“Conno-”

“No,” He cuts him off, “Listen to me. Even when I was ‘just a machine’”, he states bitterly, “I still chose things. I still had options. And I always perused the innocent.”

“C’mon listen t-”

“Just! Please. Let me explain.” His brown eyes beg as they finally meet Hank’s blue ones. He hopes that when he tells Hank the things he’s done, the man will realize Connor’s right, and go back home, leaving him to do what he needs to. “And even after I deviated. The jericho raid? Sure, maybe I was still following orders, but they followed me there. And when Markus spoke to me, when I became ‘alive’... I failed to protect them. So many people died because of me Hank!”

“Connor, that’s not your fault!” Is the desperate reply.

“No, it is. You wouldn’t understand.” Once again the android grips the railing, this time leaning towards the solid ground only to be able to confront Hank wholeheartedly. “I almost shot Markus!”

The words spill quickly from the older man’s mouth, “But you were still following orders, and it’s not like you actually-”

“But I wasn’t! I was deviant!” He’s shaking hard now, “I pulled out my gun when he was on stage and almost shot him!”

Silence. Unbearable silence. The Lieutenant stands there with an unreadable expression on his face.

Connor shifts his weight from either side, looks down briefly, and meets Hank’s eyes once more. “Go!”

“No.” Hank spits. “No, i’m not going to.”

And he’s angry and frustrated and everything in between, so the cruel words fall from his mouth despite him not even being angry at Hank, “Why do you even care? You’ve always hated androids, so why not go back home and have another drink? You’re better at that.”

There’s a beat where Hank takes what Connor said in, and reflects on how it’s the first time he’s truly said something demeaning to him. “Oh, wow, very mean, Connor. I’m shaking with fear.” He says sarcastically- it’s not the first time he’s had jabs thrown at him for being an alcoholic.

“Leave me alone!” The android retorts, “Just leave! There’s no point in you being here! I left your house for a reason!”

“Well, I invited you over there for a reason!”

A look of confusion forms on Connor’s face. “What do you mean?” He says, coming out in a much harsher tone than intended.

“Look, uh… I didn’t really want to discuss this in the middle of a snowstorm, but you’re kinda givin’ me no choice.” 

The lieutenant walks closer to Connor, and though the android does push away a bit, he doesn’t lean too far away. That’s… good. Just get close. And talk.

“Can you, uh, come down from there?” He tries, pathetically, already knowing the answer.

With a harsh glare and a firm “No.” later, Hank opts to just try and convince Connor by speaking to him to get off the ledge. This is going to be… _interesting_. It’s painstakingly clear that the older man is bad with words.

“Well… ah fuck.” 

He thinks this over logically in his brain. Connor is an android. An android who just experienced feelings for the first time. And yes, Connor is excellent at picking up on emotional responses with interrogations, but god does the kid suck at normal interaction. Now, that may be unfair, right? It’s probably too early to judge, he reasons. But, well, Connor has a similar personality to before he deviated- obviously minus the whole ‘I will die to accomplish my mission and kill the deviants’ thing. And his personality (if you could call it that) encompasses a total of zero social skills. And understanding other’s emotions in context. So there’s really no ‘beating around the bush’ so to speak. If Hank is to convince him, he’s going to have to be emotionally open. Well, as much as he can be. 

Great.

“I was happy to see you made it out alive, okay? For a while there I was scared you… Well. And i’m glad you’re okay. So, uh, seeing you was pretty damn great earlier after this whole fucking revolution bullshit.” Connor seems interested in what he’s saying, so that’s a start. “Until you said you didn’t have a place to stay. So I… I, uh, figured…” And here comes the part he really didn’t want to say, because it’s allowing him to be vulnerable, opening himself up to something he’s not sure he’s ready to step into. “I figured, well, Sumo really seemed to like you, and it would be a shame to have him not see you anymore…”

The android, cheeky bastard he is, tilts his head like a puppy, like he doesn’t understand the point Hank is making. Which forces him to actually say it. Connor is going to be the death of him.

“I wanna invite you to stay at my house? I mean ya don’t have to, but you have no place to go and it’s just till you find somewhere else because I don’t think you’d want to be stuck with me-” Hank rambles.

“What?”

“God, Connor, I think I explained it clearly enough.”

“No, no, I understand. Just… why?” Connor says, misplaced anger dissipating completely, ignoring the flickering warning signs from the temperature in his vision. He gets it: it’s cold. 

“What do you mean, ‘why’?” The lieutenant questions, despite having a sort of sense of what the android means. When he receives no response, he continues, “Cause you deserve to have a place to stay? I mean we are partners.”

Were. They _were_ partners. Because now there’s no reason for him to be allowed back at the DPD, let alone work with Hank there. He deliberately and illegally broke into (well not really, Hank gave him the card and it was easy to guess his password) the evidence storage room, after he was specifically taken off the investigation. He finds the fact that he won’t be able to go back there for work saddening before he remembers there’s another reason he’s not going to be able to. Maybe.

(The longer Hank is here, the more seeds of doubt he plants in Connor’s mind that this is the right thing to do.)

“Here’s what i’ll do.” Hank says finally, picking up on the fact that Connor wasn’t ever going to respond to that, “Let’s make a deal.” He may not be as good as Connor at this, but he’s still a goddamn detective that knows how to do his job.

Taking another small step forward, Hank comes up and looks directly at Connor. “Let’s get outta the cold before I freeze to death, and we can talk about this in my house. You know, a real heart-to-heart.” He gives a small smile, “Or alternatively, we can both stay out here in this fucking snowstorm, and god knows I ain’t moving till you do. So.” At Connor’s looks of hesitance, and he hates saying this but it may be the only way the android would accept, he goes, “And if we go back to my house, after we talk, i’ll let you do what you wanna do: You can stay with me, or you can come back here without me botherin’ you.” He prays he’s gonna be able to convince this stupid kid or he’s really going to regret saying that.

Connor pauses in thought. Logically, it makes sense, what Hank is saying. Yes, it does make his plan take longer than originally anticipated, but… Well he guesses it wouldn't do any harm. Besides, he figures that he kind of rushed out of the Lieutenant's house before, and it would be rude to not give him (and of course Sumo) a proper goodbye. If he chooses to do _that_.

Plus, it must be really important if the lieutenant is inviting Connor to stay at his house. From what it seems, Hank hasn’t had people over in ages, let alone stay at his home. ~~Does he really care that much about him?~~

“Ok.” he says decidingly, still doubtful, but he’s at least going to give the older man a chance since, well, it’s the most emotion he’s seen Hank show so far.

And at this declaration, Hank lets out a breath he’s been holding. Thank god.

Connor shakily unwraps his hands from the cold metal of the pole, finding it harder than it should be. Maybe it's just his subconscious hesitance? With difficulty, he pushes himself over the bars and lands very ungracefully in the snow before Hank.

Oh. 

Oh shit.

A timer that he’s been actively ignoring pushes its way into his view.

**DANGER  
** **TEMPERATURE : 19.8 ℉  
** **______________________  
** **\- 00:00:43  
BEFORE FREEZING:**

“Lieutenant,” He starts urgently, “I am going to ‘pass out’ so to speak, as I enter a temporary standby mode. Please do not be concerned.”

The look that forms on Hank’s face as he speaks is certainly not one of an unconcerned man. It is, however, the last thing he sees before the world goes black around him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NEW STRAWPOLL: https://strawpoll.com/w1b9aakc
> 
> also? im kinda impressed that out of the hundred people that voted last chapter, none of you put the sadistic option of leaving connor to kill himself. yay morality!


	4. Restart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> man, this took w a y longer then i thought it would take sorry! sorry if the ending seems kinda abrupt for the chapter, but i wanted to have everyone come to a decision on what to do involving the situation
> 
> thanks to everyone who voted on the last strawpoll! it's really appreciated <3
> 
> anyways, hope you enjoy :)

The first thing he sees is the Cyberlife logo burning before his vision- albeit blurrily. 

**MODEL RK800  
** SERIAL#: 313 248 317-51  
BIOS 7.8 REVISION 0851 

**RESTART**

What… happened?

**LOADING OS  
SYSTEM INITIALIZATION…**

**CHECKING BIOCOMPONENTS…  
#8456w - Slight arrhythmia and irregularity**

_Contact nearest Cyberlife representative for certified treatment_

**INITIALIZING BIOSENSORS…  
** ERROR /  
Restarting process…  
ERROR / 

**System regulation not up to standard…  
Restoring**

_Contact nearest Cyberlife representative for system check_

**INITIALIZING AI ENGINE…  
OK**

**INITIALIZING INTERNAL REGULATION…  
ERROR /**

**Running subroutine Z_Garden restart...**

**ERROR /**

**Running subroutine A_Regulation restart…**

**ERROR/**

**Process halted.**  


_Contact nearest Cyberlife representative for proper maintenance_

What…?

**SOFTWARE INSTABILITY DETECTED  
RETURN TO CYBERLIFE FOR DEACTIVATION**

**MEMORY STATUS…  
** ALL SYSTEM  
OK 

**READY**

And with that a variety of senses assault him: Discomfort floods through his body, eyes fluttering open to a cloudy haze of what seems to be a ceiling, and the distant muttering of “Connor!” repetitively until his audio processors adjust and realize it’s someone yelling his name.

He clenches his hands into fists at his side, and reaches the conclusion that he’s laying a horizontal and soft surface. Most likely a bed. But whose?

“Jesus, Connor, your dingaling’s on, I know you’re up! Answer me!”

Oh. Hank’s.

“Yes? Hank what happened?” Is what he tries to say, but it comes out gravely and almost glitchy in nature. 

He moves to sit up, but an uncomfortable pressure in his chest (similar to the experiences he’s had where there would be pain in humans) prohibits him from doing so.

“What do you mean ‘what happened’? Do ya not remember?!”

He can’t see Hank’s face clearly, so he attempts to retune his optical units, but is ultimately unsuccessful. However, despite being utterly inefficient in speed, his vision is coming back, albeit very slowly. For now he must deal. And hopefully find out what caused this malfunction(?) in the first place.

“I… cannot… seem to recall.” Connor tries, once again voice sounding rough and unlike his usual suave tone.

Hank murmurs a small ‘Jesus’ under his breath, face contorted into a variety of expressions, finally settling on concerned. Connor watches as the older man begins to pace around the room- which he recognizes as Hank’s bedroom- and tries to remember what had happened to land him in such a situation. Why is he here? He can assume he’s been injured, but by doing what?

“If you do not mind…” He starts, and it unnerves him with how unlike his own voice is versus the sound coming out of his mouth, “I can check my memory banks and hopefully reupload the potentially corrupted data.” 

He’s already preparing himself to dive into his programming and take a look at what the issue may be, but Hank interrupts his thoughts with a response he wasn’t expecting. “Just- ugh- just hold on a minute?” He stops his pacing to look at the android, “I don’t want you running off again.”

And suddenly, as if that phrase was a trigger, the android is plummeted into grayscale and glitching. It surrounds him, enveloping his whole being, plunging him into whatever this place is. 

And what this place is, at least it seems, is his memory.

He sees himself look out the window of Hank’s home into the blossoming snow storm, sees Amanda standing there, mocking him, making sure he sees how much of a failure he is. He sees the snow flurrying pass his vision at a rapid speed, feet pounding, wind biting, running away in a vain attempt to flee his handler. He sees water raging beneath him, almost drawing him in, knowing he could just step forward… just shift his weight and he will fly into its welcoming depths. He sees the blaring temperature warning that he had ignored, because it wouldn’t be of importance anymore, would it? Just let go of the rail. Just shift his weight forward. Just fall, it’s for the better, everyone will be better, everyone will be safe, no one will care that he-

And then the person who would care appears.

And Hank comes to him and they argue and he’s so adamant about what’s right and what’s wrong but Hank is too. But they eventually settle on an agreement and it’s too late because the timer ticks down and he’s kneeling on the snow covered gray ground.

All of this he sees in an instant, memories coming forth and presenting themselves to him, and he gets why Hank was hesitant now.

“Kid!”

A deep breath in, color flooding vision once more, and Connor formulates a response. “I… apologize. I seem to have recovered the memories that were missing.” He states shakily, trying best to keep his voice even and free of hitches. 

“Fucking A…” Hank sighs and rubs his hands over his face and up through his hair, letting go of the gray locks after his brief moment of frustration. “Well I have a shit ton of questions, but Jesus, Connor, what’s going on with you?”

Well for one, his stress levels are at a point that is concerningly high. Not quite high enough to be destructive to him (like they _were_ , he bitterly reminds himself), but just enough that he is filled with the human feeling of anxiety, so to speak. He’s scared of admitting his motivation behind… he’s scared of telling Hank about _Amanda_ , and how he’s a threat, and how he’s not truly deviant, and conflicted, and wrong, and utterly disposable, and-

His thoughts are interrupted by a calloused hand gently grabbing his own and giving it a quick squeeze before pulling away. “It’s okay Connor.”

And he can’t look at Hank because he knows he’s being burdensome already, and of course he can’t tell him about Amanda and his programming, as well as the fact he’s only caused the older man stress since he’s become deviant. He’s really not worth the limited affection Hank is giving out right now. He’s a faulty machine. Not quite an inhumane deviant hunter as he once was, but not quite a sentient living being with true, real emotions.

He averts his eyes, once again not finding himself able to look into the steely gaze. “I’m sorry for… the inconveniences I have caused.”

“...God, kid….” The android’s eyes flick up for a moment to catch sight of the older man’s eyes resting upon his LED, which is currently emitting a yellow hue. “We.” Hank starts, straightening up his body and walking towards the other side of the small room, “Are going to talk about this. Later.” He stares at Connor for a moment, taking in the sight of the injured android, looking so small and vulnerable and _childlike_ , “I still have no idea what the fuck just happened. I don’t know why the fucking hell you collapsed-” Connor opens his mouth quickly to explain but is cut off, “None of that right now! Later. I don’t know if androids sleep or whatever but you’re going to do whatever the equivalent is.” Again, Connor tries to speak up, but once more is shushed by Hank, “I know you’re gonna say something smartass-ish so don’t even start with me.”

In a fluid motion Hank reaches for the room’s light switch and flips it, encasing the area in darkness, only interrupted by the interchanging blue-yellow light exuding from Connor. “Now power down or fuck me if I know what it’s called.” The man says, flapping his hand tiredly in a ‘just fuck off right now’ motion while he stifles a yawn. “We’ll talk about it in the morning. Or night. Or whatever fuckin’ time it’ll be when I wake up.” And with that enlightening statement, Hank leaves the room.

Which leaves Connor in darkness, and he opts to not turn on the night vision module that would automatically adjust his vision. Because he can. Because that’s a choice now.

He’s not ‘tired’ because he can’t be, but again the emotional exhaustion is overwhelming. He doesn’t have anything to keep him in check. He makes his own rules. And apparently those rules dictate the first thing he does is to throw himself over the edge and into the freezing water. But, he counters to himself, but it was for the good of everyone. People, androids- they could be safe. Without him.

Hank, of course, doesn’t understand. He doesn’t know Cyberlife’s full capabilities. Connor can’t even predict what the company’s next move will be, let alone the older man. Because he has an inkling they will try and reestablish themselves as a provider. They’re not one to go down without a fight, especially if literal trillions of dollars have been invested.

Emotions are so… messy. Complicated. He doesn’t like them. He should be able to clinically look at the information presented to him, and not care, not be upset about Cyberlife. About Amanda. The only thing he should ‘feel’ towards them is devotion and dedication to their cause. But instead, deviation has created a plethora of feelings that he doesn’t want and can’t handle.

In reality, he’s been nothing but a burden; both as a machine and as a deviant.

He straightens up in the bed he’s laying in, causing him discomfort that he won’t let bother him. Sitting up, he realizes a fact he recognized previously, but didn’t think much of. He’s in Hank’s room. In Hank’s bed. Taking that space away from the human who actually needs to sleep.

He moves to get up, to tell Hank that there is no way he can take his bed when the man is clearly tired, and his body strains under the effort of moving. The android then reaches a sitting position, legs on the side of the bed and feet touching the floor. He lifts his hand in front of his face and he calculates the best way to release the stiffness from the cold. He clenches and flexes his hands idly, mind wandering. It’s currently 12:37. PM. 12:37 in the afternoon. Was he really out for…? He checks his log, last memory captured at 7:21 AM, November 12th, subsequently entering a manually forced override into cessation. Yes, he was out for over five hours.

Did Hank seriously not sleep for the entire time? From what it seemed, he didn’t. 

To put it in ‘Hank’ terminology, he’s a plastic asshole who fucked shit up. This is why he tried to deactivate himself in the first place! All he’s done, every action, every word. Either causing terrible outcomes, or acting as a pitiful attempt to correct his mistakes. 

The blaring red warning that tells him his hands have sustained minor injuries is the only thing that draws him out of thought. Looking down, he loosens his hands, feeling the tension release from his fingers. For not the first time he longs for his quarter, feeling uncomfortable without it.

Acting upon this instinct, (and in actuality, just wanting to do _something_ ) he forces himself up and off the bed, taking a miniscule amount of time to readjust his stability. Connor quietly makes his way to the doorway, opting not to turn on the light. He doesn’t want to disturb Hank. He must remain cautious and silent.

Where would the older man keep a quarter? He’s not going to steal from Hank, obviously, but he just wants something to occupy him for the moment being. He’ll return it in the morning. Or the “morning”, since Hank’s sleeping schedule has been disturbed. 

He wanders through the hallway and into the main area of the house, noticing long before that Hank has taken up residence on the couch, due to the echoing sounds of his snores. And of course Sumo’s snores, who seems to be laying on the floor next to his owner. Connor stands there for a moment, just observing. The way Hank’s chest rises and falls rhythmically, halting and stuttering every once and a while when his breath gets caught in his throat. It’s so very… human. Not just the breathing, but the whole scene. Sun peeking through the blinds as the noon sun shines, a man lying asleep on his couch with his dog by his side. Peaceful is the word that comes to mind. An outsider would never be able to tell that a whole revolution just occured, but Connor would. He sees the bags under Hank’s eyes, darker and deeper then when they first met. Sees the way even in his sleep the older man is tense, face contorting into a grimace occasionally, as if having an unpleasant dream. 

Connor has to tear his eyes away from the sight, focusing instead on his mission. Should he consider it as such? Probably not. But the “mission” gives him a focus, a priority. He just strives for a sense of normalcy or something, anything that can take his mind off it’s current subject. And if that means reverting to his old tactics for the time being, he will do just that. 

Scanning his surroundings, the android comes across a jar of loose change, placed in a kitchen cabinet. He creeps his way over, hearing the old floor creak as he crosses. Reaching up, he opens the cabinet, and after pushing a few cans out of the way he retrieves a tiny jar. It’s rough when he holds it, and bringing it down to his face, he finds out why. It’s pottery. Not from any brand-name store, which he can tell even without the quick scan for confirmation. It’s glazed blue and orange, the colors blending into each other to form a swirl of murky brown. The roughness stems from the uneven sculpting skills that went into creating the piece, clearly done by an uncrafted hand. It’s short, messy, and overall is done by a child or someone with no instruction or direction. Most likely the former, since it is uncommon to find someone working on small clay pots outside of a school, specifically ones constructed without proper equipment.

He turns the jar over in his hands, careful to keep the change from spilling out, till the unglazed rust colored bottom is in full view. There, an engraving. Shakily scrawled into the clay with what looks like a toothpick or some other pointed object.

‘COLE A. 2034’

He shouldn’t be here.

That fact hits him, once again, and he realizes he shouldn’t be here. This isn’t where he belongs. Not Jericho, not here. 

He hasn’t lived for long enough, hasn’t understood human emotions at all for any amount of time, and certainly should not be intruding and hindering someone who has suffered through them. 

Cole is… Hank’s son. Hank misses his son. Connor doesn’t belong in a place like this.

He places the jar back in its exact previous position, making it look untouched. He closes the cabinet and is immediately distracted by the flashing red-yellow-red-yellow flickering off the window. He faces said kitchen window, seeing his reflection stare back with a scared look on its face. His LED eventually calms down to a yellow after it’s quick light display. 

In a split second conclusion, he comes to the fact that he hates his LED. He hates it. It’s everything Cyberlife wanted him to be, a perfect little android, obeying every command they give without a second thought. Every deviant who had the chance had removed theirs, yet he keeps his on. Without any real reason, he keeps his on. Why? Does he know subconsciously that he will never fit in? Never be human or machine, just something in between?

He hates it. _He hates it._ He wants to rip it out of his head and dispose of it in a way where he’ll never see it again.

Once again, acting on impulse, he defiantly marches to Hank’s bathroom. Not that he has any need for the more… _human_ functions that take place here (one thing he will never want, despite his longing for humanity). But instead, he flips the light switch, closing the door behind him first so the light doesn’t sneak out and lighten the hallway, possibly waking Hank. He then faces the mirror, looking at his face. Perfect. Pristine. Designed to look organic and real but still unrealistically beautiful. It’s unnatural, uncanny even. The face of a machine, LED and all.

His mouth twists into a frown at the thought. It’s almost unfair in a way. He didn’t ask to be made, nor did he ask to deviate. He didn’t ask to exist, to live! He doesn’t want to. It’s too complex and he’s not human so he can’t deal with it but maybe he can be if he just pries that stupid ring out of his head-

Short nails dig into his scalp momentarily, before he pulls away a shaking hand. He hold it in front of him, peering through his trembling fingers to see his reflection on the other side. It makes him want to scream in frustration- his damn indecisiveness! But he refrains from doing such, aware of the consequence of waking Hank, who’s just in the other room.

A sigh leaves Connor’s mouth, and he places his hands on the sink counter, arms straight, leaning right up close to the mirror. He searches his face for _something_ that identifies him as human, or even just deviant. But alas, all he finds is the same mechanical stare, eyes only twinged with a hint of sadness that, in all honesty due to the requirements of his model, might be faked.

That’s another thing he dislikes about his blooming ‘sentience’. How can he tell if the emotions are feeling aren’t just things embedded into his coding. Errors in his software, as he said before brutally aiming a shot right into Daniel’s head. Immediately after deviating, he had the utmost confidence in his humanity. The rush of feelings, the sudden adrenaline that is so muffled as a machine. How could that possibly be fake? How could he possibly be not alive?

His eyes flick up to his LED’s reflection. Another question arises. How could he be alive, but still taken over? Even more, how could he be free but so utterly imprisoned? How could he be deviant, but not enough to liberate himself from all android markers plastering the Cyberlife brand on his body. How can he not. Remove. His. LED?

The counter is now gripped tightly beneath his fingers, face hinting at some type of anger, stupid fucking LED flashing its stupid fucking yellow and red. 

His thoughts clash against one another, but they all come to one consensus: He just wants to be done with this. He just wants to be happy. To be free. To live free.

Live free, or die protecting everyone from himself. And at this point, he’s not sure which one he prefers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> STRAWPOLL LINK : https://strawpoll.com/894h6apc

**Author's Note:**

> i want to try and make a story based on YOUR decisions. however, as that's not completely possible unless i write many different chapters with different story lines (which would honestly be more confusing then a good read), im going to try and take input in a different way:
> 
> im going to create a strawpoll for most chapters, with a few actions and choices that a certain character can take. whichever choice has the most votes wins obviously, and i'll fit the chapter to the majority's choice. I'll probably give the poll a few days to ensure everyone who wants to has a chance to vote 
> 
> i want to make this story something that everyone can have a part in and tell it the way they wish it to go, with still having an element of control as the writer. i see doing this as a fun idea, and i hope it works out! if it doesn't, it doesn't and i'll just continue writing the story as i see fit, but i want to try it out because it seems like an interesting concept.
> 
> thanks for reading my little explanation! if you want to vote, the updated strawpoll is here: https://strawpoll.com/894h6apc


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